


Stolen Kiss

by Syllis



Series: Kisses [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, It's always Marcus - Freeform, M/M, Thalmor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis
Summary: Modern AU!By night, Marcus works as a dancer at Solitude's hottest night spot. But by day, he's just another struggling student, trying to get through his diploma program and make ends meet. So when Dyce the private investigator approaches him, with a remarkably lucrative offer to help out with a honey trap, he's very tempted. Marcus' uncle Ahtar, urges him to go to the boss because something about this offer just isn't right. Cyrelian is more than happy to go over the terms of Marcus' contract, but immediately develops suspicions of his own.The target of the trap is the not-so-much ex-Justiciar Cyrelian's financier. And Cyrelian is hiding secrets of his own, not least of which is that Ahtar is his lover and paramour. So he proposes to Marcus that he take Dyce's little job, and try to determine where this threat's coming from.
Series: Kisses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681696
Comments: 32
Kudos: 5
Collections: OC Kiss Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mongoose_bite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/gifts).



**00:20 Loredas 12 Second Seed 5e201**

Marcus glanced back down the alleyway, just to make sure. Ahtar’s reassuring silhouette was just barely visible against the dark gray of the wall. Marcus' uncle had volunteered to stand by for this conversation, so he was close enough to intervene; far enough to not be eavesdropping. And no one noticed Ahtar outside at night unless the big Redguard was standing between them and a light.

“Sure, I do some of that kind of work. Maybe. What kind of job is it?” Marcus didn’t know this guy, but Ahtar’d said the boss had vouched for him, so that was enough.

Dyce explained.

They were in the alley right behind the club; it was cold and damp and smelly; and the wind was gusting hard enough that bits of trash kept scudding by them. Puddles of gods-know-what. Marcus was still dressed in no more than he’d worn for his set and had already cooled down. Goosebumps were rising all over his body. He began to pay more attention to keeping his shoes clean than he was to this guy with his smiles, trying to scam Marcus, maybe.

“I don’t want to be a little bitch here,” Marcus said, with care. “But I’ve run into this situation before. No family court’s gonna care about that shit, how some guy spends his own personal time.”

Dyce shrugged. “It’s what the client wants.”

“Well, I’m not working for some client. If I take this job, I’m working for you. You pay me whether you get paid or not, and it’s going to be a good chunk right up front. I’m not wasting my time otherwise. And I want a lot more information, first.”

“I can have it over to you tomorrow,” promised Dyce. “And once you look it over, maybe we can meet for you to give me an estimate? I do have to walk it by the client.”

Ahtar, Marcus knew, was going to have a fit when he found out what this job involved. And ugh, it would be dull. Still. Money was money.

“Is early-early morning alright?” Marcus asked, testing. “I’m done by four, for sure. Usually I go work out and grab a bite at Pete’s. Say five-thirty?”

Dyce grimaced, but nodded. “I know the place. Oh, hey, before I forget--” he waved a folded bill between his fingers. “That was a really good set.” 

Marcus took the money from him without comment, and made it disappear. He opened the fire door, nudged the rock that had been holding it open aside, and swung it shut. As he entered the keycode to re-secure it, he could hear Dyce’s strangled gasp of surprise.

“Just here to make sure you get to your car alright, sir.” Ahtar had put on his congenial-host voice. “Hope you had a good night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**05:20 Loredas 12 Second Seed 5e201**

“Wow,” said Dyce, settling into the booth. “Almost didn’t recognize you there.” He grinned and did that head tilt thing, really trying to push the charm. “You look a lot different without your--” 

All this talk was a waste of Marcus’ time. He held out his hand until Dyce pushed over the file folder. Marcus’ finger traced along as he began to read through it.

After a couple of seconds of getting zero response, Dyce turned his attention to the server, cheerfully baiting her into giving a recommendation. 

“The food’s all pretty good here,” interrupted Marcus, to kill that distraction. “So just pick whatever." And shut up. "Yeah, thanks, Lena, more coffee.” He ignored Dyce’s little show of trying to offer him the sugar and creamer, and went back to the numbers. Marcus had concerns.

As soon as the server had walked away, he tipped the folder towards Dyce, displaying the picture clipped to the inside. “I do know this guy. He’s a regular. Nothing special when he's in the club, but…” Marcus went back to the breakdown sheet. “He’s a money guy. To the point where I’m not sure you want to get into the business of messing with someone like him.”

“Are you talking about a safety risk?” Dyce actually sounded concerned for Marcus, his freckled face doing a good job of looking earnest. “Or is it just that you don’t want to risk losing a regular?”

Marcus couldn't help the laugh. “Someone’ll fill that chair. And if he causes trouble in the club, he’s out. I’ve got no worries about that.” He touched the picture. “Rather not have all this fall back on me, though.”

“I can take care of that,” Dyce promised.

“Thanks.” Marcus was busy drawing lines through most of the numbers on the page and writing in his own numbers. He showed these off to Dyce, who winced, but agreed. “Listen, I gotta know a few more things.”

Dyce nodded, listening. He made a few notes.

“Also I should talk to my uncle, too,” said Marcus. “You know, that really big guy who walked you to your car? He worries about me a lot.” Satisfied that Dyce had gotten the point, Marcus slid the file into his backpack and stood up. “Get with your client and see if this is alright. I’ll be here tomorrow, same time.”

Dyce winced again. “Sure.”

“Thanks for breakfast.” Before Dyce could do or say anything else at all, Marcus was out the door, heading to the bus stop.


	3. Chapter 3

**17:45 Loredas 12 Frostfall 5e201**

“You get your grades yet?” Ahtar wanted to know.

“Here.” Marcus tossed the envelope onto the table, and took a seat. “I haven’t wanted to look; I know it’s bad.” 

“You put the work in, right?” Ahtar opened the oven to glance at the lasagne and slammed the door back shut, quick. “Cheese still isn’t brown.”

“Went to all the classes, did all the work, talked to all the instructors and did the tutoring when I could and I still only was just barely passing.” Marcus slumped towards the vinyl tablecloth till his chin was on his hands. “I couldn’t even finish the final, and it’s like eighty percent of the grade.”

Ahtar tore the strips off the thing and popped it open to check Marcus' grades. He grunted. "Passed the rest," he reported. "Too tired?"

Expressing that no, Ahtar still did not approve of the dancing, even if it was at the place where Ahtar worked where he could keep an eye on things.

Marcus didn’t respond to that. Thinking about it made him tired.

Ahtar barely fit into his own tiny kitchen. He turned sideways to get at the fridge and set a couple of bottles of fancy water on the table.

“What makes this special?” Marcus tapped the bottle, thankful for the distraction. His uncle worried too much.

“It’s really fuckin’ expensive, that’s what makes it special.” Ahtar cracked his open, and drank it. “Other than that, you gotta ask Erdi, she brought it over so the boss could give it a try. Said it’s good for you ‘cause it’s alkaline.” 

“I’m failing chemistry and even I know that’s bullshit.” Marcus took a sip. “This doesn’t taste like anything at all,” he reported.

Ahtar shrugged. "It didn't sell," he said, meaning that he'd got it free.

Over supper, Ahtar read the file that Marcus had gotten from Dyce. He whistled. 

“I know.” Marcus was still glum. “You don’t like it.”

“Okay,” said Ahtar. “This isn’t good. I thought this was just gonna be the kind of job where you followed someone in a car or sat outside with a camera. This is even more dangerous than that shit you got into in Riften. Fact is, it might even be…” Ahtar cut himself off. His lips pursed as he thought. “We gotta talk to the boss.”

Marcus had looked over all of his own financials just this morning and he'd more or less decided to do it. Well, Ahtar hadn't said no outright.

Marcus did the dishes, and then they ran all the way back to Marcus’ place so he could get changed for the club. He wasn’t working tonight-- there was gonna be a band--but still. Marcus had standards. And he didn’t care having to go all that extra distance, since Ahtar was letting him drive the Jeep. Marcus loved to drive; it was the one thing he'd let Ahtar teach him. And he'd taken all those classes that were offered by those weird guys out at the gun range. They didn't like Marcus much, and he didn't like them, but he sure loved to drive. 

Maybe if Marcus took this job, he could get a car. A nice car, even. Not that Jeep.


	4. Chapter 4

**21:30 Loredas 12 Second Seed 5e201**

“Just walk up to him, and ask.”

Marcus froze. “I don’t know what to say!”

“Just say ‘Hey, boss, I got something you probably ought to know about.’” Ahtar patted his back, almost a shove. “Tell him you need to talk in back. Go on, I got to get set up for opening.”

At nine-thirty in the evening, the lights were still up and the rearmost tables were being used for work, and the Dominion’s most wayward Justiciar was sitting at one of them, pecking at his laptop. His jacket was slung over the chair already, and his half-open shirt revealed a sliver of dark-gold skin almost as far down as his belt. Under the lights, his skin and tangle of red-gold hair shone back almost metallic. Piles of fliers were stacked all around him, as were several empty and half-empty glasses, and he was half-arguing with some lady promoter whose business was way more important than Marcus’. A couple of the waitresses from the upper dining room were sitting close by, rolling silverware. The sound guy was walking back and forth, cursing into his radio.

It wasn’t going to get better. Marcus stepped forward and followed his script.

For a half-second, all of Cyrelian’s attention was focused on Marcus. When he glanced aside to check his phone, his rust-orange eyes reflected back green, like a cat’s. 

Marcus started to apologize, but the boss was already getting up and pulling on his jacket. 

“Another appointment,” Cyrelian told the promoter. “I did say my time was tight. Auvri can get you back on my calendar.” His laptop under one arm and Marcus under the other, he steered the two of them to one of the featureless rear doors and scanned them on through. “Gods save me from industry people,” the boss sighed. “What did you need?”

Marcus explained Ahtar’s concerns.

Cyrelian had his phone in his hand again. He tapped at it once, without looking at it. “Meet us up in the secure conference room,” he said into it, walking the two of them towards the elevator. Marcus had never been up to the third floor before. Marcus’ own tag didn’t grant him access to the upper floors, and after Ahtar’s warnings about the security in this place, Marcus hadn’t even bothered trying.

When they crossed through the doorway, a green light flickered around the doorframe briefly and was gone. The air in this room felt particularly dead and still. 

Marcus took a seat in one of the thick-cushioned chairs to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**21:55 Loredas 12 Second Seed 5e201**

Cyrelian looked up from the file. “You don’t need to explain who Dyce is. He’s one of the independents. Small-time and a little lacking in professionalism, but--” the boss shrugged.

Marcus looked at his uncle.

“Dyce just works for money,” Ahtar translated. “Kind of like you. He doesn’t have loyalty to anyone in particular, but he’s pretty straight-up. You pay Dyce, he works for you. Nobody else.” 

“He’s been a patron here for a long time. Since we’ve been open.” Cyrelian let the file folder slip from his hand back onto the polished table.

“Dyce?” Ahtar frowned. “He’s been around. Comes in on and off. Two, three nights in a row and then not again for a few months. Sometimes alone, sometimes with different people. He’s not real showy with the cash, but he always gets past the door. Even on real busy nights”

“He watches the dancers,” Marcus put in. “Me, the boys, the girls. Tips pretty good. But he never asks to go in back. Usually somebody’s with him. This was the first time he ever wanted to talk to me.” He hesitated. “Except…”

“Except what?” That was a retired Justiciar’s voice all right, sharp and carrying.

“I saw him at my school one time.” Marcus shifted around in his chair, not liking the scrutiny. Not liking how the boss' voice had changed. “A week ago or so, right before finals. I was… looking at the jobs board?” 

Perhaps that was not the best admission to make to the boss, but Ahtar was nodding approval. 

“This was right outside my classroom, and he had this stupid tweed coat on with the collar all fucked up and the same kinda of glasses Layla uses when she does that sexy librarian bit-- I mean, he just looked off.” Marcus coughed, because the two of them were looking at him like he was an idiot. “Anyways, when he walked up I was sure that there was gonna be trouble. Sometimes I do get followed. I knew he was looking at me. But he just snagged one of the flyers off the board, like that’s what he was there for.”

“Did he say anything to you at all?” Cyrelian’s attention was wholly focused on Marcus.

“Um? No. Just ‘excuse me’ and then he walked away. I wasn’t even sure it was him. I am now, though.”

“We have a problem,” Cyrelian said, his voice flat.

“Oh, yeah.” Ahtar went to the phone on the wall. “Gimme a second, I’m going to page Darian and have him take over the gate.” 

Ahtar made the call, while Marcus jittered around in his padded chair, trying not to be uncomfortable that he was still being stared down by this guy in a suit. At least Marcus didn’t have handcuffs on, and he was in a nice conference room, not a crappy one.

“Have you had any other encounters like that within the last…” Cyrelian gestured at Ahtar, who covered the phone with his hand.

“Six months,” Ahtar said, covering the phone briefly with his hand. “Marcus’ been with us about six months.”

“Since you started working here.” Cyrelian’s fingers skittered along the edges of the folder, tracing around it, over and over.

“Not that I can think of. Why?” Marcus’ level of anxiety was rising, fast. 

The boss was getting agitated, and if whatever-this-was made Ahtar nervous-- and Ahtar sure was, judging by how snappy he was getting on the phone-- 

Hey, what the hell? He had just seen the boss reach into his jacket to check on something. What was that? A gun?

“What’s going on?” Marcus wanted to know, just as Ahtar snapped out:

“Don’t care. Just get down there and fucking do it.” Ahtar hung up the phone, growled at the flashing lights, hit the next extension, and answered it. “No. Something else just came up. He’s not available.” Ahtar hung up with a curse, and sighed, turning back to Cyrelian. “I’m sorry. My fault, this has to be. Must have been careless somewhere. And I shoulda stayed more hands-off with the kid. Maybe having him come up to work at the club was a bad idea.”

“You’re allowed to have family.” Cyrelian stood up and went to one of the mirrored walls to rebutton his shirt. His voice was almost too soft to be heard, now. “But this is the price that comes with having family, isn’t it?” 

Ahtar exhaled, slowly. 

Cyrelian continued to fuss, this time with his cuffs. He drew a rolled-up tie out of his pocket and began to put it on, as leisurely as getting dressed in the morning. He flipped his collar back down and pushed hands through his hair, smoothing it back behind his long ears.

Another twitch of his sleeves to settle his jacket, and just like that, Cyrelian had reverted back to a professional office type. The mirrored walls of this pristine conference room reflected back white leather chairs and a polished executive. Marcus and Ahtar in their club clothes suddenly looked out of place. They looked like movie bad guys in a boardroom.

“You tell him yet?” Cyrelian’s voice was so soft that Marcus almost didn’t hear him.

“No one means no one.” Ahtar looked tense, in a way that Marcus hadn’t seen since he’d got taken up to Solitude, opening his eyes in the hospital bed to see Ahtar looking back down at him. He was scared. 

Marcus swallowed. What the fuck?

“You might as well bring him in,” Cyrelian said, his gaze averted from both of them. “I have to make a few calls.” 

“Take him up with you.” Ahtar held out his hand to Marcus. “Gimme your keys. I’m gonna have Gilles run down and grab some of the shit you’re gonna need for the next few days. Cause you shouldn’t be going back to your apartment on your own till we figure out what the fuck is goin’ on.”


	6. Chapter 6

**22:00 Loredas 12 Second Seed 5e201**

Cyrelian pressed the second-and-third floor buttons in a rapid sequence. The elevator went up. Marcus hadn’t even known there was a fourth floor to this place. The boss unlocked a set of double doors on the far end of the hall and waved towards a kitchen/bar area. “Get yourself a drink.” He set his things down and began to mess around with his phone again. “Something to eat, whatever you want. Just stay quiet and out of view. Facetiming the kids.” 

Feeling a little unreal, Marcus went on into the room, and behind the granite-topped bar to find himself a glass and ice and… he glanced inside the liquor cabinet and whistled. A few grand worth of high end shit, right there. Nice crystal glasses, too. He shut the doors, untempted. There was a wine fridge, full of bottles of ale.

In the food refrigerator, restaurant boxes. Not leftovers, either, these were full take-out meals. Two kinds of green salad, three boxes of different kinds of vegetables; pasta with shrimp. Pasta with chicken and bacon. Grilled salmon. Grilled lamb chops. Meat loaf. Bean loaf. Another box with two rolls of fancy sushi and a tangle of seaweed salad. Dates were written on the boxes. Marcus looked closer. Today’s date.

Bread, butter, jam. Honey and peanut butter. Eggs and a half-empty package of bacon. A covered pitcher of-- pancake batter? A box of expensively out of season strawberries. Marcus took one. It burst in his mouth, surprisingly good for autumn.

Cyrelian’s freezer was equally jammed with food that would need nothing more than to be oven-heated. Marcus hadn’t even known Bardo’s would sell its pizzas frozen.

In the cupboards, chips and snacks, cup meals and canned pasta and dried meat and… Marcus blinked. Dominion military rations. He counted. At least two weeks’ worth. The lower cabinets held nothing but many of those five-gallon jugs of water. Marcus wandered back and studied the locks on the double doors to the suite. Yes, that was some kind of metal sheathing on the door itself; and the frame was fully reinforced. Magickal protections there, too.

Off in the sitting area, Cyrelian was still talking to his family, back home in the Dominion. Early evening for them. Marcus could hear the squeals of “Ata!” and the Justiciar cheerfully saying, “No, sweetie, I know the puppy licks your toenails; don’t lick the puppy’s toenails-- yes, yes, very pretty, they are so pink! Where is Mama? Can you get Mama?” 

The boss sounded relaxed and happy, even joyful, but Marcus wasn’t fooled. He could read the body language, easy. Apparently so could Cyrelian’s wife, because Marcus could hear her asking some sharp questions. Cyrelian dropped into Altmeris and took the call into another room, shutting the door.

There was a cabinet with a lockpad, but it was no trouble for Marcus to fiddle. He stared at the medic’s kit and the many boxes of medication, including a couple of syringes taped to the inside of the cabinet door. He read the boxes and put them back just as he’d found them, and re-locked the door.

When he went looking around the sitting area, Marcus found the guns, too. He was careful not to touch them.


	7. Chapter 7

**22:15 Loredas 12 Second Seed 5e201**

“So--” Marcus began hesitantly, once there was silence. What the fuck is going on? But he couldn’t quite say that, not to the boss.

“So you don’t live with your uncle?” Cyrelian hit a couple of buttons on his phone, turning it off. Not just silenced, off off. His voice was just a little strained. He was sitting on one of the couches; Marcus had already noticed that when Cyrelian wore his clothes on properly, he sat properly, too.

“We, ah, don’t get along that well. I stayed there about two months when I first got here but then I got a place closer to school. I mean, he was usually gone, but when he wasn’t--” Marcus shrugged. “I just need to have my own space.”

“Have you ever seen anyone around your apartment that didn’t look like they should be out there? People walking by at odd times, or just sitting in their cars?” Cyrelian’s face was grave.

Marcus shook his head. “No one would notice that in my neighborhood. It’s the kind of place you just keep your head down and get inside. That kind of stuff is always going on. Mostly the dope dealers. And, you know, law enforcement sitting stakeouts.”

“Is there anything that you would need to take care of in order to go on a sudden vacation for a couple of weeks? Pets? Plants to water? Friends to notify?” The boss didn’t just look serious, he looked deathly.

“Nothing.” Before he’d come to Solitude, Marcus’d always had to live life as if he were about to be arrested. Because that had happened in Riften. A lot.

Just then Ahtar came in. “You talk yet?”

“I thought it best to leave that up to you.” Cyrelian rose to his feet. “Since we’re not going back downstairs tonight, I’m going to grab a shower and think about what, if anything, I’m going to tell my superiors.” 

“What the fucking fuck?” said Marcus, as soon as the door was closed.

“Here’s the deal,” said Ahtar. “I did what I could to leave you out of all this shit, but now you got targeted.”

Marcus spread his hands. Why?

“Because ah, you’re kin to me, and I’m--” Ahtar gestured towards the bedroom. “Kinda the weak link here. So this is someone, using you. Trying to get to me.”

“So you two--” Marcus was still looking at the bedroom door. He gave up on words and made an elaborate gesture. 

“Yeah, that kind of sums it all up,” Ahtar agreed. “Dominion wouldn’t like it; they’d haul his ass home. He'll be lucky if all he gets is a bullet. They’d wanna to talk to his family, and that’d get pretty rough.” He stretched out his arms to lean back on the cushions, leaving no doubt about it in Marcus mind, this was where Ahtar lived, too. His uncle went on: “Me, I’d just disappear. Or traffic accident, maybe.”

“He’s not just a club owner,” Marcus guessed.

“Naw, Cyr ain’t one of those useless expats with more money than sense; even those Thalmor assholes wouldn’t care what he did up here, if’n he was. That’s just a bit of a… a bit of cover. Like this place. People come here, meet him, see this kinda club, they think to themselves; ah, this Cyrelian’s alright, he’s all good and friendly, he ain’t into what the Dominion believes. Nope.”

Ahtar stabbed a finger into the arm of the couch: pay attention here.

“He’s a real Justiciar; not medical’d out or any of that bullshit. And you gotta watch him, he’s a true believer, the real hard corps. He ain’t here to play; he’s been working the whole time.” Ahtar laughed, bitterly. “Thirty hours a day, if’n he could.”

Marcus rubbed at his arms, he was still dressed for the club; and it was suddenly freezing up here. “It... I mean. This place. And he always seemed so welcoming.”

“Oh, Cyr likes people, he likes ‘em just fine, any ways he finds them. One on one, he’s pretty friendly, no reason not to be. It’s not personal hatefulness… it’s... “

Marcus watched his uncle’s distress. He began to feel worse and worse. Now he was shivering.

Ahtar searched for the words for some time. “He’s got these...principles. I’d say religion but that ain’t quite right. The Thalmor’ve kind of squeezed their faith into the shape that suits their needs.” His shoulders moved as if he didn’t care, but his voice shifted to disgust: “So yeah, he’ll throw a few extra septims in your pay if’n he sees you had a bad week… but that don’t mean he ain’t gonna run home and support some bullshit that’d see you an’ me and everyone like us dead.”

“Why are you here?” Marcus’ voice sounded odd in his own ears.

Ahtar laughed again; that same ugly tone. “I don’t even know.” He went over to pull back the velvet curtains and stare out over the glittering strand that was Dockside. “Guess I like the fuckin’ view.”

Marcus stayed where he was, hands on his knees, chilled to the bone. He wanted a real drink. He wanted to go back and rifle through that medical cabinet. Hell, he wanted to go back to Riften, do some shit that’d cause him to lose his thoughts, just as easy as tossing himself in one of those greasy canals. He could feel the ridge of his wallet in his pocket and knew he had the money to get there. Maybe live for two, three months, even.

But the last time that Marcus had gone back to Riften, he had actually died. As Ahtar continually reminded him. So not a good plan. After a little while he began to feel less scared, and got bored.

“So now what?” Marcus demanded. “Do I get to sit up here and watch you two play house from now on?”

Ahtar snorted. “Naw. Cyr’s gonna get his people onto that job, run it back, see what’s what.” He lifted the top of the side table and took out one of those plush throw blankets, tossing it to Marcus. It smelled of clean laundry.

Ahtar was saying: “This could be anything. Could be nothing. Always possible that the job is what Dyce says it is. But if it ain’t, whoever’s behind it woulda gone to Dyce through a cut-out or two. I mean, we could make Dyce talk to us, but there ain’t no point. He wouldn’t know. Because these would be true professionals.”

“Huh. So what do I do? And when’s this gonna be over?” Even swathed in the blanket, Marcus still felt cold.

“Dunno yet. Hold tight.”

\--

Another set of doors got unlocked, opening up another section of the suite. Marcus found himself in possession of a sitting area with couches and a gas fireplace, a bedroom with a huge bed, and a bathroom that rivalled the size of his own apartment bedroom. Marcus was allowed to shut his own door and keep it locked, if he wanted. Or he could wander out into the boss’s large living room and its kitchen/bar with all its food and drink.

Ahtar’d brought Marcus up a few of his own personal items, courtesy of Gilles. A couple changes of clothes, books, toiletries... Marcus was encouraged to buy whatever else he might need. Order whatever food he wanted.

“Within reason,” Ahtar warned.

“Hey,” Marcus asked them. “What do you want me to do about this meeting with Dyce?” 

“Reschedule for Tirdas.” Cyrelian watched Marcus send the text, and then took Marcus’ phone away with him.

But he let Marcus have the sushi, and there were plenty of movies for Marcus to flip through, so that was alright.


	8. Chapter 8

**04:45 Sundas 13 Second Seed 5e201**

“Do you seriously do all your work at the dining table?” Marcus wanted to know.

“I have an office,” said Cyrelian. “At the Embassy. I’m nearly certain that if I went up there someone would show me where it was.” He was working on his laptop again. Marcus’ phone was resting on top of some electronic pad plugged into it. “Out of curiosity, did you ever notice your phone missing, and then find it again?”

“Yeah, at school,” Marcus said. “Last week. Thought I’d put it in my jacket pocket. Found it later. In my backpack. I thought it was weird, cause it's not like I would've put it there on purpose. But I didn't really think about it.”

“Which school?”

Marcus named it, and said: “It’s one of those crossover programs; if I can finish it, I get a real high school diploma. Some college credit, even.” He sighed. “I’m not doing good, though.” And the program was for young adults; Marcus was going to age out of it soon.

The boss had simply nodded, without judgment. When he reached for his tea, he grimaced; it had gone cold.

Marcus took the cup back to the kitchen area and dumped it out. He hit the switch on the hot water kettle and messed around with the tea leaves and so on, filling the strainer up with fresh leaf. While he waited, he leaned his elbows on the corner and watched Cyrelian, energetically tapping away. He looked brisk and efficient and stone-cold sober. Sometimes appearances were bullshit.

Marcus had already heard part of that argument last night, before he’d given up trying to sleep and gone to close all of the connecting doors.

\--

**05:45 Tirdas 15 Second Seed 5e201**

“I talked to my uncle and he’s not happy, but he says it’s okay.” Marcus sighed. “He said he really doesn’t want me going back to, uh, my old line of work, but…”

“You never stopped,” Dyce took the last bite of his spinach omelet.

“He said it’s my decision. And I did get a lot pickier.” Marcus wrapped his hands back around the coffee mug for its warmth. “Speaking of which, have you got--”

Dyce wiped his face with the napkin, tossed a couple of bills on the table, and stood up. “You done? It’s out in the car.”

\--

“Thought this car belonged to one of the cooks.” Marcus looked over the rust stains and dings. How did anyone take this guy seriously as a private investigator when he drove something that looked worse than a hype car? Dyce was still digging around, grumbling. The inside of his car was even worse than the outside, food bags and file folders spilling everywhere.

Dyce eventually came up with a small envelope. “Here. Should have everything you asked for.”

Marcus could feel the outline of the thumb drive through the paper. “Alright. Should have the plan worked out and ready for you tomorrow.”

“Are you headed back home?” Dyce asked. 

Marcus hesitated. “School,” he lied.

“Want a ride?” Dyce pushed a couple of food wrappers onto the floor, and moved a half-empty drink cup over to his side. He was being a little too accommodating, and Marcus didn’t like it.

“What the hell is that all over your seat? It looks sticky.” Marcus was already backing away. “You know what, I got some reading to do and I can get it done on the bus. Thanks.”


	9. Chapter 9

**07:05 Tirdas 15 Second Seed 5e201**

Marcus knew jack and shit about what the boss had described as ‘tradecraft’ but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to do what he said he was going to do, so he got on the bus that went out to the community college. When he went into the library, he saw the sign for Printing Services, and settled in to wait for it to open.

“Oh,” Marcus said, offhandedly, to the friendly girl who ran the place. “I heard it was a lot to get through and screen reading sometimes gives me migraines. How long do you think it’ll take?”

He wandered back up and watched a movie in one of the carrels for a bit, and then went out to find a food truck and get a snack. From time to time he leafed through one of his notebooks, looking studious. He tried to keep an eye on his surroundings, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary at all.

After Marcus picked up his packet of paper, he dropped the thumb drive onto the floor of the restroom and crushed it with his boot, kicking it far under the stalls.

\--

**11:20 Tirdas 15 Second Seed 5e201**

When Marcus got back to his apartment, his uncle’s Jeep was in the parking lot.

“Hey. What’re you doing here?” 

Ahtar straightened up from his crouch and pushed the television back against the wall. “Goin’ through all your shit.” He looked upset. “Mind telling me why you’ve still got that?” He pointed at the zippered red pouch lying on the couch.

“It’s not mine,” Marcus said, immediately. A cold rush of fear washed down his spine, because it wasn’t, it really really wasn’t. And he knew without looking what would be in it. Who the hell had been in here? And how did they know...

Ahtar turned and slammed his fist down on the coffee table. Marcus heard the cheap wood crack. He froze.

“Let’s try that again.” Ahtar looked at Marcus, his voice controlled, almost gentle.

“All right, all right!” Marcus said in a rush. “It’s mine. It was for… just in case.” Marcus shoved the damned shit out of his way to flop down on the couch. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn’t have to look at Ahtar. “Haven’t touched the shit since I got out of the hospital the last time. It’s just--” 

“Just in case you wanted to spend a little more prison time? I dunno if you noticed, but you ain’t a kid anymore and it’s not gonna be another sixty day turnaround in juvie.” Ahtar weighted the bag in his hand. “Enough here to be a pretty fair stretch.” 

Marcus put his arm over his eyes. “Fine. Get rid of it.”

“Why do you still have this?” Ahtar’s voice held an anguished note. “After all we did to get you--”

Marcus drew breath, but--

“Don’t you fucking apologize!”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Marcus’ eyes closed again. “You know what, sure, I’m the lying liar who lies. Give me a piss test if you want. I forgot about the fucking thing.”

“Bullshit.” Ahtar was still glaring down at him, arms crossed, angry. Marcus didn’t even need to have his eyes open to see that.

“Fine,” Marcus lied again. “It was insurance. Sometimes shit goes wrong, really wrong...and it all goes to hell again before you can stop yourself. And in case you’re wondering, having to suck a whole bag of dicks while you’re dope-sick really fucking sucks.” Marcus rolled to his side, facing away. He stopped talking.

“Don’t you go away like that while I’m talkin’ to you.” Ahtar was upset enough to slam the table again, this time in a more controlled emphasis. “Gods damn it, after all the time and trouble Jala went through for you--”

Marcus had already gone away. He couldn’t listen. He was too scared. Who would do this to him?

After a little while Ahtar went back to searching around, this time in the bedroom that had become a closet. Marcus listened to Ahtar thumping around and swearing for a long time. Eventually he drifted into sleep.

\--

**16:15 Tirdas 15 Second Seed 5e201**

“Yeah, we went through it all,” said Ahtar. “Packed up the clothes and things he wanted to keep and took them out, got all that into storage.” On their way out, he’d grabbed that little red pouch and flung it, hard enough for it to make the reverberating boom of the dumpster echo through several blocks. He still wasn’t talking to Marcus.

Cyrelian had shoved his laptop aside to start going through Marcus’ printouts, making notes on them as he went, working just as efficiently as he’d been some twelve hours earlier. Marcus could see where his second neglected cup of tea was still sitting. It didn’t look like he’d even gotten up from his chair, and he’d declined the offer of dinner with a curt wave.

“You mind if we eat?”

“One moment.” Cyrelian rubbed at his eyelids. “You know who your supposed target is, right?”

“Yup,” said Marcus. “And I read through what I could find. Real estate developer, does a bunch of those commercials for those ah, planned communities.”

Cyrelian tapped the page. “You think you could do this job, the way Dyce wanted you to?”

Ahtar started to say something, but Cyrelian interrupted. “Sometimes you use a little fish to catch a bigger fish. That’s what they’re trying to do with you, to us." He gestured to himself and Ahtar. "So this is how it works," he went on. "First you do jobs for Dyce; then his client wants to hire you; then his client’s boss… and all of a sudden the jobs you find yourself getting…”

“Hey! I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, not on purpose,” Cyrelian agreed. “But these people can be very manipulative. They may find other ways to get at you, now that they know you're a good way in...Have you ever gone deep-sea fishing?”

Marcus shook his head.

“Sometimes you catch a fish,” said the Justiciar.

“Sometimes if you catch a fish and you ain’t strong enough or smart enough to unclip your harness, that fish pulls your ass out of the boat right into the water. Then the fish catches you,” Ahtar added.

Cyrelian handed back Marcus’ phone. “That’s what we’re going to try to do. You don’t need to hear the details. Just take Dyce’s job the way he set it up, with that little bit we added, and report back to me. If you hear or see anything of interest along the way, don't hesitate to let me know.”

Marcus said: “Okay.”

“One other thing,” Cyrelian tapped the photo that Dyce had passed along. “Just so you know. This is not a random target. He’s my business partner and financial advisor. Privy to all my dealings. For one--he's the actual owner of this club. So when someone goes to this much effort to get blackmail material on him-- they're still working on trying to get strings on me.”

“Makin' a special point of using one a my relatives to do it,” Ahtar said. “We get to deal with all kinds of bullshit but this is a new low.”

Cyrelian shrugged. “I get concerned.”

“Speaking a concerned. You gonna eat something for me and maybe take a nap? You got at least six hours till we open.” Ahtar’s voice took on a wheedling tone. “I’ll make those crepes you like.”

“I have to get cleaned up again, and then head topside by six-thirty. Podcast. And between then and now, I have to look over the script.” Cyrelian was already heading to the bedroom, taking off his shirt as he went. “Just make me some coffee. You know how I take it.”

Ahtar’s suppressed sigh was barely audible.

Despite what the boss had said, Ahtar took the pitcher of batter out of the refrigerator anyways, and began to make food. Under his direction, Marcus sliced the strawberries up and doused them with the balsamic vinegar and sugar, and was set to whisk the cream.

When he came into the dining area, Cyrelian tasted his coffee and frowned. He took it back behind the bar for a moment and returned. Ahtar slid a plate over. With the stuffed crepes temptingly placed in front of him, even Cyrelian couldn’t resist. “Hey,” he said, “This tastes different.” He took a couple more bites. “It’s not bad or anything, it’s just not--”

“Wanted to try something different.” Ahtar took his own bite, considering. “Taste all right?”

“You didn’t flame the strawberries in the brandy--” Cyrelian glanced at Marcus and just as swiftly went back to his own plate. “It’s fine without.” The boss had more than enough brandy in his coffee cup to make up for it. Marcus could smell it from here.

For just a second Marcus thought there was going to be another argument, but then there wasn't.


	10. Chapter 10

**05:35 Turdas 17 Second Seed 5e201**

“All clear,” Marcus reported. “You got me everything I needed to know. As soon as I see him in the club again, I’ll get started. Honey trap is a go. Shouldn’t take long. Your guy’s actually asked about availability and so on, before. Figured that's why you picked me?" He laughed, softly, still keeping his voice low. "He wasn't offering enough for it to be worth the risk. So I just never agreed.”

Dyce smiled. He scooted over next to Marcus, his right arm draping over Marcus’ shoulders and his fingertips wandering inside the collar of Marcus’ coat. Marcus could feel his warmth, pressed all along Marcus’ side and thigh. Dyce’s other hand was on Marcus’ left knee.

“You know, I don’t really care for this shit when I’m not working,” Marcus said.

Dyce only grinned more. His face hovered closer, enough so that his hair brushed Marcus’ neck. “Just a little cover,” he breathed.

“If you touch me, you pay me,” warned Marcus. “Right now you’re up to about twenty--”

“Check your left pocket for your first installment." Dyce slid back across the seat to get up.

On his way out, Dyce beamed at their server. He and Lena whispered together for a moment. When Lena came back to Marcus' table to see about his refill she started cooing about how cute they were together, how sweet, how adorable, she’d watched all this develop from the very first date.

Great, just great. Marcus grimaced into his coffee cup. Now he was going to have to find another late-night diner.

\--

**23:45 Fredas 18 Second Seed 5e201**

“Not our usual room,” Alfgar noted.

“It’s a better one,” Marcus promised, letting himself use the bigger man for support, even though he could walk in these heels just fine.

Once he was astride and his face buried in the man’s neck, Marcus murmured what he had been instructed to say.

Alfgar bellowed laughter, loudly enough that his belly moved Marcus around on his lap. His hands squeezed Marcus’ ass as if testing its tensile strength. Whoever these friends of Marcus' were, they did not know Alfgar's wife.

“These people, they think everyone else is like them.” Marcus raised his arms, briefly settling into a pose. “After my second set, walk me out to your car. If you want.”

Alfgar’s teeth glinted through his beard. Oh, yes, he would like that.

“That’s fifty to start with,” Marcus warned. 

Those broad hands moved to his waist. “Make your new friends even more happy. Come to my house. Spend the night. Let them get all the pictures they want.”

“It’s your money.” That reminded Marcus. He had a job to do. He began to move.

\--

\--

\--

**04:20 Morndas 21 Sun’s Height 5e201**

“Just occurred to me,” Ahtar said. “You’re getting paid three times for this job. By Cyr, by Dyce, and by Alfgar. Must be pretty good, but you need to be careful.”

“Money’s all safe in the bank.” Marcus stuffed another few bits of costume into the bag for the dry cleaners and looked over his dressing room. Something else new he’d just gotten, his own dressing room. Shoes next. Maybe he should get one of those organizer things, but there was a bewildering variety of shapes and sizes.

These last few nights, staying in close quarters with his uncle and Cyrelian had been severely annoying. It was almost enough for Marcus to start wondering whether he could get paid four times over. Almost. Whoever these people were that were trying to get at Cyrelian, Marcus didn't like them much. Not after that little red bag. And family was family, no matter how annoying. Marcus was gonna have to find someplace else to sleep, though. Soon.

“Dyce smell a rat yet?” Ahtar wanted to know.

“So far as I can tell, no.” Marcus tucked a platform shoe back into its box and kept working. “He’s not questioning himself about this made-of-money client in front of me, anyways.” 

Because they now had enough material on Alfgar to bring down, say, an Elder Council minister. Not that Alfgar cared. Alfgar thought it was hilarious. He’d even thought of a way to spin all this to keep the Mara-faithful happy, assuming that some of these pictures hit the media. He and Marcus had even done a green-screen picture-taking session of their own, just for that-- with Marcus pretending to be weeping desolately into his hands and Alfgar's expression a letter-perfect anguished guilt. 

Alfgar kept coming up with new suggestions of places that he and Marcus could go and things they could do. Said he was taking suggestions from his wife, who also was talking to the boss via some kind of backchannel. Things had gotten even more inventive. Marcus was exhausted.

Ahtar nodded. “The boss says, go find out. Work a bit on Dyce if you gotta.”

Marcus groaned, loudly.

“Hey,” said Ahtar, raising his hands. “You get back into the game, this is the kind of shit that you get leaned on to do. I tried to warn you.”

“Yeah, whatever, fuck you too, Maven.” Marcus started to wipe down his mirror with unnecessary vigor. “You know what? I’ll do it.” Shit, maybe Lena could help them pick out engagement rings. “But only if I can borrow a car. A nice clean car, not your Jeep.”

Ahtar looked a little surprised, like he’d expected Marcus to push back more. “See what I can do.”

\--

**14:30 Middas 23 Sun’s Height 5e201**

“Woah,” said Marcus, staring at the vehicle in front of him. “I’m almost afraid to touch it.”

“Take it for a little run; it needs driving. After you get back, take it up to Sparkleclean and have them do the extra-premium detail,” said the woman, who’d come up and shaken Marcus’ hand but not introduced herself. She tugged iron-gray hair back into her ponytail and smiled at the car, sadly. “I’ve been a neglectful owner. Ought to sell it, but I can’t bear to.”

Marcus poked around for a few minutes, because he wanted to check on things like insurance. When he reviewed the title documents in the glovebox Marcus almost had a heart seizure, but then he laughed. You have got to be kidding me, he said to himself, and got back out.

The woman was still chatting with Cyrelian as if they were old friends.

Marcus came up to them. “Are, uh, ma’am.” He fumbled around for a bit. “Are you sure that you’re okay with all this?” Alfgar had said that she was, but in Marcus’ experience, what husbands said was never true.

“The only thing that disturbs me is that I’m probably never going to be able to get my hands on any of those pictures.” She winked. “That I’m allegedly paying for. Any luck on finding out who’s behind all this?”

Cyrelian shook his head. He was still smiling. “Ruling out all the possibilities takes awhile, I’m afraid. If you’re curious, I can tell you who it isn’t.”

Marcus got asked another question. “Sure,” he said to her, his eyes a little widened. “Not my usual thing, but we can talk about it. After all this mess is done.”

“Clubs aren’t my usual thing either,” Alfgar’s wife said, just as cheerfully. “But who knows, maybe sometime we’ll both stop in.” Her smile turned just a bit unfriendly. “We’ll see how well these people know us. See if they recognize you’re driving my car.”

“Any information that you can gain will be helpful,” said Cyrelian. “But be careful. I’m beginning to think this is an inside job from the Dominion, and they’re not known for playing nice.” He gestured. “Just leave it parked it up front there if you’re not using it; it’ll look like you’re driving it for me.”


	11. Chapter 11

**05:35 Morndas 27 Sun’s Height 5e201**

“New shirt,” Marcus said, sliding into the booth. “Not bad.”

Dyce shrugged. “We got paid again. Helps with that. Speaking of which.” His hand drifted over. Marcus flipped his own hand palm-up and let Dyce clasp it. As per instruction, Marcus decided to be in no hurry to retrieve it. He returned to pretending to study the breakfast menu.

“Our guy’s not been around the last couple days. Business trip,” Marcus said. “You know what, I’m hungry, I think I will get the bacon.”

“Not a problem,” Dyce was saying. Lena was hovering there, waiting on them. “Umm. Maybe I will just get the egg-white skillet.”

Marcus groaned. They went through this every time. “Get the potato pancakes, you know you want them.”

“I keep eating like this, I’m going to need all new clothes,” Dyce complained.

“Yeah? It’ll look good on you.” Marcus rattled off his order to Lena quickly. “Spinach omelet. Bacon. No toast.” 

Marcus kept his hand where it was, Dyce’s blunter fingers still laced with his, palm warm against his palm. He could sense Dyce's rising curiosity, but kept silent.

“That’s an interesting tattoo,” Dyce said, eventually, rubbing his thumb along the back of Marcus’ hand. 

Marcus snorted, because even a guy who was trying to flatter him couldn't come up with anything nice to say about it. “It’s a piece of shit,” he agreed. He took his hand away just long enough to slip the folded bit of paper into his pocket, and rested his arm back on the table. 

“It looks different in different places.” Dyce’s fingers were running along his wrist now, tracing out its blurry lines. “Where’d you get it?”

“Jail. Mostly me who did it. All the parts I could reach, anyways. I got better as I went along.” Ha, the expression on his face, that was good. Marcus grinned. “Had more, on my face. Gang shit. Got it lasered off. Court order.” He tilted his head just a bit, so Dyce could see the slightly paler patch of skin below his right eye.

“They can make you do that?” Dyce reached, to touch it with his thumb. He began to lean forward.

“Oh! Sorry, guys.” Lena, looking flustered, juggled their plates around and began to hand them down. Someone else called out to her and she headed off, pretending to be too busy to be embarrassed.

“You got something going on this morning?” Marcus wanted to know.

Dyce had just taken a big bite of his potato pancakes. He shook his head, cheeks full.

“I got a new car,” Marcus said. “Drives pretty good. I thought about running up the old coastal road just for fun. Interested?” The bacon burst in his mouth, salty and crispy, a little jolt of pleasure that surprised him. It had been a long time since Marcus had cared about food. It had been a long time since-- he was a little bit interested.

Dyce’s eyes had brightened. His hand clasped Marcus’ arm again. “I’d like that.”

\--

**06:45 Morndas 27 Sun’s Height 5e201**

“Must pay better than I thought. The dancing, I mean.” 

Marcus just grinned, and exited to the on-ramp. “Truthfully? I’m just kind of leasing this thing for a couple of weeks. For fun.” He navigated the lane-change with precision and adjusted the tilt of the mirror. “Here we go. Sorry we can’t really open it up. Too much traffic.” They were starting to run into rush-hour. Marcus hoped it would clear up as they got away from the city.

Dyce began to fool around with the radio, getting his phone hooked up, scrolling through playlists.

Marcus kept his attention on his mirrors, because he was beginning to have suspicions-- “Huh. Look at that. Someone’s following us. Left lane, three back. Black and grey.” Marcus kept his voice light. “Any reason why?”

Dyce angled the mirror-backed visor. “No.”

Marcus turned the music up and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. The further out in the country they got, the more likely it was that their followers were going to break pursuit. And Marcus didn't really want to lure them out, did he? Cyrelian wanted to know who they were, but was it even gonna be worth the risk?

Marcus stayed where he was, letting the traffic thin out a bit. “Silly question. Have you ever met this client face-to-face?”

“Just her attorney. I know the guy, I’ve picked up work from him before. And she’s been in on the emails, and she’s texted me. Why?”

“Awful lot of money to drop on a child custody case. Thought it was gonna be a one-time gig.” That SUV was nudging up a bit closer. Marcus adjusted. “What’re you seeing? People? Elves?”

“Elves, maybe. Embassy’s up this way.” Dyce sounded concerned. He stuck his phone up to get a few pictures. “And yeah, I didn't expect things to go on so long. Not complaining about the repeat business, but this has been kind of--” He made another noise of alarm as Marcus took the next exit and the SUV followed right behind them.

“Kind of hard for them to hide here,” said Marcus, with satisfaction. Now they were on the old two-lane highway which runs along the coast of Haafingar on the way up towards its border with Wrothgar.

He slowed down.

The SUV slowed down. 

“Wanna head down to the beach?” Marcus asked. “Could spend a couple hours forcing them to watch us make out. Those Dominion guys, they hate that.”

Dyce had turned around in his seat to get a better photo of the vehicle. He nearly dropped his phone, and cursed.

“Got everything you want?” Marcus wanted to know. 

“Yeah.” Dyce settled back down and squinted at his screen, frowning. "I'm good."

"Seatbelt," warned Marcus.

The split highway had come back together as the road curved to navigate around the cliffside. Marcus cut into the next lane and accelerated sharply. When he downshifted and cranked the wheel, the momentum of the car whipped them around into a perfect bootlegger’s turn. Almost perfect. He didn't hit the guardrail or go off the shoulder. And he did manage to recover from all the fishtailing.

"You all right?" Marcus wondered.

Dyce made a faint noise, to indicate that he was still alive but only just.

“See what we can do here,” Marcus murmured to himself, and sped up. Oh, the acceleration was nice. See, this was even better than sex. A glance at Dyce’s face told Marcus that no, no, Dyce did not agree.

“Another silly question. Do you know why this client told you to go hire me? Or why she’s been bothering you, trying to set up a meeting with me? Trying to cut out the middleman, maybe?”

Dyce just gritted his teeth, but Marcus had already caught his reaction, and that told him everything he needed to know. 

“You could have run this whole job yourself and done it better." Marcus slowed down, letting them return to normal highway speeds.

\--

“Is there some reason we’re going to the hospital?” Dyce sounded peevish. “Other than you giving me a heart attack, I mean.” 

Marcus unfastened his seatbelt and leaned up out of his window to grab the ticket. Even though there were more convenient spots open, he took the car all the way up to the second-to-top floor and parked it on the inside, between two other vehicles. 

“Just a nice safe place to leave the car. Lots of people coming and going from here, and it’s gonna give me a really good excuse for needing to call for a ride.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Yeah.” Marcus looked behind himself again, but it was just some Bosmer with a thick bandage wrapped around his hand, looking glum. Into his phone he said: “The urgent care side. If you wouldn’t mind. I still feel a little--” He coughed, deep in his chest, until the Bosmer got up and moved away a few more seats.

Ahtar growled when he saw that Marcus had another passenger along, but he cleared the rear seats out and Dyce clambered up. 

“Shoulda realized this was more of your bullshit.” Ahtar pulled out of the turnaround. Traffic was slow. “Gonna take forever to get back across town and I ain't gettin' back to sleep.”

"Yeah, well, you're only here because I think we caught them. They fucked up, following us. And just like the boss said, it's Dominion."

“You sure?” In profile, Ahtar’s face was unreadable.

“Here.” Marcus enlarged the picture and handed up Dyce’s phone.

Ahtar glanced at it, snorted, and tossed it back. “Ain’t nobody can hire good help these days.”

“Dominion for sure?” Marcus asked. "I mean, it looks like elves, and it's three guys."

“Half-squad like I taught you,” Ahtar agreed. "And look close, front right, see that little gold-and-white square? Forgot to take the Embassy’s EZ-pass off their windshield.”

Marcus and Dyce shared in his derisive laughter.

\--

“Well, they may have panicked,” Cyrelian had the printouts laid out across the card table. In his club-owner guise, he was rumpled and scruffy-faced, looking like he hadn’t been to bed for a few days. His eyes gleamed back green; his pupils enormous in the dim. “Ingirid was right about them recognizing her car. They were probably sitting quietly in the parking lot keeping tabs on your little breakfast date, waiting for you to catch the bus. And they’d have to keep up pretty close to try to get a whisker-trace on the car, to listen in on your conversation.”

All six of them were sitting in Marcus’ dressing room, a table hastily set up and a few chairs dragged in from someplace. There was one chair too few. Alfgar was sitting in Marcus’ working chair, looking smug, because that was the only one with any degree of comfort. Marcus had said fuck it, and was sitting on Alfgar’s lap. Dyce looked resigned.

“Oh, look, they got to Larry!” Ingirid said, showing Dyce’s phone to her husband. “When’s the last time we retained Larry? Oh, I remember. About ten years back. That time we had to have his records seized over that drainage litigation in Heljarchen.” 

Alfgar chuckled.

“Wow, he looks just like a skeever,” said Marcus, impressed. “This is the lawyer guy you get all that business from?" he asked Dyce. "I wouldn’t hire him to walk a dog.”

“Our friend Larry doesn't just take money from the Dominion," the boss told Dyce. "So I doubt you've been working for them this whole time. Probably just this once. In case that makes you feel any better.” 

Dyce kept on looking downcast.

Cyrelian contined to pack up his things. He snapped his laptop shut. “Bastards. Embassy Thalmor’re always trying to poke their nose into my business, but this time it’s gone too far and I’m going to be making a formal complaint. I’m sick of all this harrassment. My employees; my patrons. It’s going to stop.” With that he left, taking the printouts of the pictures with him.

It would have been a better exit, Marcus thought, if he hadn’t looked fucked up as hell.

Ahtar followed him out, grim-faced. “Lock up,” he advised Marcus.

“Let me make sure I’m clear on this,” Ingirid said. “You--” she pointed at Dyce. “Got hired by Larry to get some photographs that would… hmm… discredit…” she patted Alfgar. “And you did your due diligence, checked Larry’s website, the news magazines. Old court cases and so on, trying to get a feel for who his clients had been. Checked to make sure we actually had school-age kids.”

Dyce was nodding along vigorously, so Marcus’ best guess was that Dyce hadn’t done most of that stuff.

“So when you got correspondence from what you thought was the actual client you didn’t question it,” said Ingirid.

Dyce spread his hands. “Why would I? So no, I really didn’t.”

Ingirid nodded. “And he--” she stroked a hand along Marcus’ cheek. Marcus, who was sort of drifting into his work mind, preened under the touch. “Smells a skeever when Dyce offers him this job. So he talks to his uncle… and to you.”

Alfgar’s teeth glinted. He pulled Marcus further up into his lap and sleeked a hand down his torso. Marcus arched his back and tipped his head back for the kiss. 

“Trolling the Dominion is so much fun,” Alfgar said, after he broke it.

“Some poor bastard over there’s sitting in a chair, having to review all those photos of us,” Marcus agreed. “Can’t decide if it’d be worse for him if he hates ‘em or really really likes ‘em.” He leaned back against Alfgar's chest again.

Dyce looked like he wanted to be appreciating the show despite a raging headache. He was rubbing at his temples. “I don’t get it. Why? What in Oblivion’s the point of the Dominion doing all this?”

Marcus hopped down off Alfgar’s lap and went over to Dyce. “Once they got me used to the money they were gonna pull me in as their inside man,” he told Dyce. “They hate him.” He pointed at the door Cyrelian had walked out of. “There he is, running a club like this right outside of the town which has their main Embassy. This place is really just rubbing it in all their faces, so they were gonna do everything they could to bring it down. They even put a bag of dope in my bathroom, hoping to get at me that way. Hook me back up, or I don’t know, get me arrested and use that as a way to work on me.”

“Why you?!” Dyce sounded even more frustrated. 

Marcus slid an arm over his shoulders. “Hell if I know,” he lied, cheerfully. “Layla reported some weird shit was happening to her. So did one of the other girls. We thought they had a stalker.” His fingers caught in Dyce’s hair and tugged at it. “I thought I had a stalker.”

“Why me?” Dyce looked skyward and begged the gods, despairingly.

“You work too cheap,” murmured Marcus. It was too tempting. He leaned in to steal a kiss. 

“You sure don’t,” Dyce gripped him by the back of the head and stole a kiss right back. “Since it’s currently free.”

Laughter from their audience. “That’s what you think,” said Ingirid. “But it’s all good; you don’t have to be the buyer.”

She grinned at Dyce. “You doing anything this weekend? I find myself in need of a photographer.”


End file.
